


Let It Go

by thewinterspy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:18:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3555749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewinterspy/pseuds/thewinterspy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The top of the case opened, revealing the well cared for violin. The not-to-be-touched, the maybe-when-you’re-older, the don’t-give-me-that-look-I-won’t-play-for-you-now, the alright-hand-me-my-bow violin here, in the hospital room. Far away from home!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let It Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OccasionallyCreative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionallyCreative/gifts).



> Yep, I'm doing a drabble splurge. Everything on Tumblr's moving here today.

"Uncle John?"

 

John’s head jerked up. He’d dozed off, head nestled on his folded arms, that were resting on the hospital bed’s railings. A pair of big brown eyes blinked down at him from the head of the bed. The little girl seemed small, smaller than usual, in the bed. The blanket was bundled underneath her arms, the right arm wrapped in a hard cast. An skating accident, slipped and landed wrong on her elbow. Such a shame, she’d finally gotten the hang of skating by herself, too. John had been at the side with Mary and his own little boy Henry when it happened, Sherlock yelling with near hysteria for their friends to hurry over. They’d rushed to the hospital, where little Imogen Holmes had been staying late into the night.

 

John blinked once, twice, then rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

 

"Yeah yeah, I’m up, sorry love," he said, and reached out to squeeze her good hand, "How you feeling now, Imogen?"

 

"Ok," she mumbled, glancing down at the cast. There was a beat of silence, until the little girl’s lip wobbled, "Where’d Mummy go? She was here when I fell asleep-"

 

John hastily covered for poor Molly, “Your Mummy’s very tired, Immy. I told her to get some sleep, your Dad made sure she got home safe.”

 

"I want Mummy," Imogen cried, her voice getting louder. John shushed her assuringly again, brushing hair out of her face. Just as he was, the door of the hospital room creaked open, as the doctor let Sherlock in. The detective was still dressed as he had been at the skating rink, heavy coat and all. However, the bag of skates he had had in his hands then, was now replaced with a bulky case. At the sight of her father, the tears that had been collecting in the corners of Imogen’s eyes burst, and she started to cry in earnest. Sherlock glanced at her. For some, it was a simple acknowledgement. John Watson knew Sherlock’s every expression and movement, and he saw the look of hopeless despair that flashed like lightning across the man’s face.

 

"Get a coffee, won’t you John?" Sherlock asked, turning his attention back to the case in his hands. He set it down precariously between two armrests of a plastic chair sitting on the wall. John glanced down at Imogen, and quickly leaned in to kiss her brow.

 

"I’ll be back soon, mkay? Holler for a doctor if your Daddy tries to give you any weird liquids."

 

The little girl’s lips curled in, as if she was trying not to laugh while she was so busy crying. John gave her a warm smile, and then took his leave. Her big eyes watched the door close, then she shuddered out another hiccuping cry.

 

"Wh-where’s Mummy, I want Mummy-"

 

"Mummy’s getting some sleep, Imogen. She was so worried about you that she forgot to take care of herself," Sherlock said, flicking his thumbs along the seam of the case he’d brought in. The top of the case opened, revealing the well cared for violin. The  _not-to-be-touched_ , the  _maybe-when-you’re-older_ , the  _don’t-give-me-that-look-I-won’t-play-for-you-now_ , the  _alright-hand-me-my-bow_  violin here, in the hospital room. Far away from home!

 

"Am I ever going to get better? Wh-what if I never get better?" she whimpered, "A-and I’ll never play the violin, Daddy-"

 

"Nonsense, your arm will heal itself in next to no time," her father whipped out his bow, tucked away in the case, along with a cloth to clean it. He took the violin from its case by the neck, and moved across the room to sit beside her. As he did, Sherlock went on, "Besides, I’m getting terribly old. Seems as though the older I get, the more these fingers waste away. Who will play for your mother when these are down to stumps?”

 

He wiggled his fingers at Imogen, tickling her cheek. She giggled, tucking her cheek into her shoulder. Sherlock quickly tickled the other side of her neck, then brushed his finger over the tip of her nose. The five-year-old wrinkled her nose, the same way her mother did. Sherlock hummed warmly at the sight, his face softening to let a smile escape. He turned his attention back to the bow he was cleaning.

 

"Daddy?"

 

"Mm hm?"

 

"Can I go ice skating again?"

 

Sherlock looked up in surprise. Imogen quickly amended, “Wh-when I’m all better, like you said.”

 

The detective’s mouth opened slightly, then he said shortly, “You’d have to ask your mother.”

 

"I will," Imogen promised, digging her shoulders into her big pillow to get more comfortable. She sighed, contently, feeling much better now that Daddy was there, "I was ice skating, and I was like the ice princess from the ice movie-!"

 

"Frozen, the movie was called Frozen. The princess’ name was Elsa, and-" Sherlock cut himself off, glancing up at the ceiling as if it had done him wrong. Here he was, learning all the information about these pointless Didney movies. Sydney movies? Jersey movies. Something like that. He shook his head, and finished rosining up the bow as his daughter rambled on.

 

"Yeah, and I could make it snow a-and I controlled ice! Andandand Henry, he was gonna be the snowyman, but he said he was too old for that! TOO old!"

 

Honestly, he had no idea where she learned to talk so much. It must have been from her mother, because it definitely wasn’t from him.

 

Sherlock glanced at her, “He is seven, what do you expect?”

 

"He wanted to be the blonde guy," Imogen said, miserably.

 

"You really liked that movie, didn’t you?" Sherlock wondered out loud. Imogen nodded her head eagerly, pulling her lips back again to hide her grin.

 

"You wouldn’t say that Elsa is your favourite princess, would you-"

 

"SHE’S THE GREATEST EVER."

 

"Oh, well then," Sherlock said, with a melodramatic sigh. He propped the violin on his shoulder, "It really is such a shame. I was going to play you one of your favourites, so I’m certain this will be nothing but a disappointment-"

Imogen beamed as he played the first few notes.


End file.
